by Paige Rion
Touch her, buddy. Just once. Give me one more reason.
For the first time behind him, he could hear Rachel, her voice drenched in fear. “Rex, are you okay? What are you doing?”
But Colton didn’t have time to answer. The brute dragged the woman by her arm, skirting through the dining room toward the door, while she whimpered and tried her best to look as though nothing was happening.
“Stay here,” Colton murmured to Rachel.
His quick stride took him across the dining room toward the exit, where the man flung open the door and shoved the woman through it. As Colton followed, untamed fury seized his chest and squeezed.
The man and woman exited the winery, and the second they were outside, he yanked the woman’s arm, as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, moving her behind the side of the building away from the view of patrons. But Colton remained only a few steps behind. From there, he could see the faded yellow bruising on her jaw and chest—something he recognized all too well as the remnants of a week-old beating. And the second Colton turned the corner and saw the man’s giant fist backhand her, it was as though someone flicked a switch.
The rubber band in his chest snapped. He took a deep breath. The rage of a caged animal swept through him.
Before the man could lift another hand to the woman, Colton stepped forward and grabbed his hand. Everything around him blurred as his focus became singular.
The man swung around. His dark eyes were wide with surprise that quickly morphed into fury at the sight of Colton. When he drew his fist back, Colton was ready. He dodged the punch easily, and then pounced and grabbed the man’s throat. He squeezed it like a vise, and then slammed him into the side of the building. The man’s head whipped back, cracking off the brick. He stilled as the impact registered, and then began to cough and choke as Colton put even more pressure on his windpipe. Behind him, he heard the woman’s gasp, but it did little to break through his consciousness. It was another voice—pleading, shouting for him to stop—that grounded him.
Rachel.
The man’s large hands fluttered in the air until he reflexively reached for his neck. His eyes bulged and his face turned from bright red to eggplant as he continued to struggle for oxygen.
Colton fought against the haze of his rage. Trying to calm his breathing, he growled, “Don’t ever touch another woman like that again. You hear me?”
Colton let up the pressure, pulling the man forward slightly, and then slamming him back into the wall one last time. “You understand? You piece of shit.”
Loosening his grip so the man could respond, he waited until he nodded. But it wasn’t until he curled his meaty hands—the weapons he used to beat the woman behind him—around the hand Colton still held over his neck, that Colton finally released him, disgusted by his touch.
Falling to his knees, the man bowed forward, coughing and gasping for air. He peered up at Colton with an expression of both fear and fury. “What...is wrong...with you?” he gasped between breaths.
Colton laughed, the sound maniacal in the half empty lot. He started to turn away, done with the bully. But he could hear the man’s incessant cursing, the call for his significant other, and Colton’s body shook with adrenaline.
On second thought...
Whirling back around, he slammed his fist into the guy’s nose, hearing the satisfying crunch. With a screaming howl, the man cupped his mangled nose.
Finally able to take a breath, Colton inhaled and urged his racing pulse to slow. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his muscles, and the tremors in his limbs, willing them to relax.
Once his vision cleared and he could take in surroundings no longer muted by blinding fury, he turned and glanced at Rachel, who stared at him with wide, startled eyes. Her hand gripped her phone in front of her, as if it was a weapon. To use against Colton or the abusive schmuck on the ground behind them, he wasn’t sure.
No matter. Colton took a tentative step toward the weeping woman in front of him. The closer view gave him a better look at her, and he could clearly see the purple bruises littered over her pale arms. Dark shadows rimmed eyes that shifted reflexively from Colton to the man behind him, with both fear and anxiety. The look was a familiar one. He had seen it in his own mother’s eyes dozens of times before the age of ten. They said eyes were the window to the soul, and Colton’s brain was forever ingrained with the exact way in which agony, shame, fear, and concession could play out in a single glance. The way a suffering soul could be seen if you just looked hard enough.
Lifting his hand to the woman’s face, Colton gently pushed the hair from her eyes. He swallowed over the lump in his throat as she flinched, cowering slightly into his warm palm. In the distance, the sound of sirens blared.
“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “You don’t need to be scared. And you don’t have to let him hurt you anymore.”
Her eyes shifted from the man behind her, who curled on the ground moaning, then back to Colton, and for a moment, her eyes brightened. In them, he saw something flutter through her expression—something that looked a lot like hope.
Colton stepped back, and the sirens grew louder. With a sigh, he dared a glance at Rachel, praying that he hadn’t screwed his chances with her—hadn’t blown the investigation because of his inability to control himself. She stared back at him, her gaze searching his face as if unsure of what to think. But before either of them could say anything, a squad car screeched to a stop behind them.
Colton lifted his hands in the air, wrenching his gaze away from hers as he moved slowly toward the police.
* * *
Rachel waited, once again, in the warm confines of the winery. Her hand shook as she poured herself another glass of Chardonnay.
In a short amount of time, she had successfully polished off the wine tray and had started on a bottle. She could barely make out Rex’s form outside, still talking with the officers. And as she watched, she contemplated what the hell just happened. It was a lot to take in, and her mind waged a war on whether she should get up and go before he returned or stay and follow through with her plans.
The man Rex assaulted was obviously abusive and about to beat the woman he was with. But did that justify Rex’s actions? He could’ve simply defended the woman and called the police, although the rational part of Rachel knew that abusive men—especially drunk ones—were combative. Chances were he would’ve challenged Rex and forced him to defend himself. So he merely took matters into his own hands. Yet the way in which Rex seemed to become someone else, to lose himself in the situation, was not lost on her. It had been like a piece of him snapped. Like Jekyll and Hyde. Even when Rachel cried for him to stop and pleaded, telling him that she called the police, he seemed unaware, unaffected. Nothing—no one—could’ve stopped him.
But he did stop, she reminded herself. And in the grand scheme of things, all he did was teach an abuser what was, hopefully, a valuable lesson. All he left with were some bruises and a broken nose, which was probably far better than the injuries he had inflicted on that poor woman over the years. It was nothing the guy didn’t deserve.
She had to remember Rex was a loan shark. He preyed on people’s weaknesses and impulses for a living. He broke the law. This was probably expected behavior from someone like him.
She took a sip of wine and coughed, nearly choking, as the officers shook Rex’s hand. Then they got into their cruisers and left, without Rex in tow. He stood there for a minute before turning around and catching her gaze through the window. He hesitated, and then moved toward the entrance of the winery and stepped inside.
Rachel braced herself as he approached. The self-assured way he strode toward her was in slight contrast to the apprehension in his expression.
He came to a stop in front of her and cleared his throat. “Uh, hey.”
He just beat someone twice his size in the parking lot and the first thing he said to her is ‘Hey?’
The gold flecks inside the green of his eyes mesm
erized her for a moment, as tiny shivers danced down her spine. For the first time since he picked her up that morning, she noticed the curve of his biceps against the sleeves of his sweater. Veins and thick muscle roped his exposed forearms. His broad shoulders led to a hard chest, and the flat plank of his stomach, which she was sure rippled with just as much muscle as the rest of him.
He was strong. Dangerous.
Yet she was completely attracted to him, despite the fact that she should probably be scared. But then, she realized there was a part of her that applauded what he did outside. He defended a woman—someone weaker, a stranger—when he could’ve just turned a blind eye like the rest of the patrons.
He rocked back on his heels. “You’re not going to say anything to me?” he asked, after she said nothing.
Raising one dark brow, he gazed at her, as if in challenge.
“I’m deciding whether to run or thank you.”
His eyes softened. “Honesty. I can respect that.”
“Why didn’t they arrest you? Shouldn’t you be charged with assault and battery or something?”
“Let’s just say I have my ways. Besides, the jails here are always full. They hardly ever hold anybody unless it’s serious.” He glanced away, as if the subject were closed.
She mulled this over. Callaway Cove did not have a lenient police department. There was no way you could smash someone’s nose in and choke them without repercussions, no matter how much they deserved it. Then again, he was probably right. Being the mayor’s daughter gave her access to privileged information, and they had been short on jail space for years. It was a countywide problem that no one seemed to want to address.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That guy deserved it, but—”
“That guy’s scum. And he deserved a lot more than what I gave him.” She saw the anger flash in his eyes before he shook his head and sighed. Then he reached out toward her and lightly touched her hands, as if afraid to scare her away. “Listen, I’m sorry about that. It’s just... Guys like that... They’re monsters, and I couldn’t just stand by and watch him get away with it. I couldn’t sit here knowing he was going to hurt her.”
The memory of the gentle tone he used to speak with the woman, the way he touched her face outside, raced through her head. Rex moved his thumb over the back of Rachel’s hand, and the soft brush of his callus-roughened palms shot a wave of heat through her body. It was one she knew would linger long after he stopped touching her. His dark eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but think that she liked the dangerous side of him, the one that put his hands around that man’s throat and punched him in the nose. There was something thrilling in that. Something titillating in that dark side of his, and the juxtaposition of danger with the tender way he spoke, to both her and the woman—a mere stranger—was even more appealing.
And as Rachel mused, it dawned on her that she wasn’t sure what should frighten her more: Rex or how much genuine consideration she was giving him in that moment?
Taking a deep breath, she motioned to the empty spot next to her. “Come sit.”
He complied, scooting into the booth beside her. Reaching for his hand, she gripped it in her own and grazed her finger over his bruised knuckles. Bringing his hand to her lips, she kissed the discolored skin, all the while wondering what in the hell she was doing. Was it a part of her plan or something else?
But there was no denying the pull she felt to him.
She heard his small gasp of breath as her lips softly caressed his knuckles. Then, as she released his fist, she glanced at him, trying to shake off the electricity coursing through her veins. “Better?”
He nodded, without saying anything, and despite the part of her that knew she should abandon her crazy idea of making him fall for her, she found herself asking, “Tell me something about yourself?”
“What do you want to know?” The soft whisper of his breath against her skin made her shudder.
“Anything.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she wondered if he was thinking about kissing her.
“Your scent. It reminds me of where I grew up. Of my grandparents.”
For the first time since he returned, she laughed. “I smell like your grandma?”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “In only the best of ways.” Then, chuckling, he said, “No, seriously. You smell like good memories. Summer. Florida and the orange groves...like being safe.” He whispered the last part, and, for a moment, looked as though he might say more, but he snapped his mouth shut and quickly glanced away.
When his gaze returned to her, she could sense he was guarding himself and that she should tread lightly. “You’re from Florida?”
“Yep. Born and bred.” Reaching across her, he took the bottle of wine, then poured more into her glass, topping it off and taking a sip.
“We can get you something else.”
“No need.”
“So, you’re fairly new to Callaway, correct? The fact that you’ve managed to move here at all and keep a low profile is a feat in and of itself.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been here for about seven months, and I keep to myself.”
“Mm-hm. Well, I know what profession you’re in. Is that all you do?”
“I also run a charity for veterans.”
Rachel laughed. “You’re joking. Right?”
“Completely serious,” he said, taking another sip from her glass.
“So, you take advantage of people who have a gambling problem by loaning them money you know they can’t pay off, then in the next breath you raise money for veterans? Wow, that’s some hypocrisy you’ve got going.”
“First of all,” he said, holding up a hand. “What makes you think that loan sharks believe the people they loan to can’t pay them? It’s actually the opposite. Think about it. That would just be bad business. No one would loan money to someone with poor credit or no job. That makes no sense. You’d be assuming all the risk with little chance of gain. Besides, the charity gig makes for a good cover. No one would believe my illegal activities.”
“True.” Rachel pursed her lips, mulling over this new information. “Okay, then. But what about before this? Have you always been in the business of raising money for veterans by day and loaning money to gamblers by night?”
“I used to be in the military. The Marines, to be exact. After high school, I signed up. I did one tour in Iraq, served five years, before I got out.”
Based on his physique, the fact that he had been in the military didn’t surprise her, but how exactly one went from serving their country to illegal activity was unclear. The veteran’s charity, however, she could understand now.
“You didn’t like it?” she asked.
“I did. I figured I’d make a career out of it and move up the ranks.” He paused, as if thinking about something from his past. “But things change. Life changes things...and people. I suddenly had more reason to get out than I had to stay in, so I left and after some time, trying to figure out what I wanted to do, where I would go...here I am,” he said, spreading his hands.
She nodded. “A military man. Interesting.”
“Is it?” He smiled at her and his eyes sparkled. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about yourself.”
She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Now that I don’t buy for a second.”
“Really,” she said.
“I told you where I grew up. Tell me about growing up here, in Callaway Cove.”
Rachel reached out, playing with the stem of her wine glass, unsure what, if anything, she should say. After all, she was well aware that he had shared only the bare minimum about himself, and a little small talk and an adrenaline-spiking experience didn’t make him a confidant. And though there was something disturbingly trustworthy about him, she didn’t know him. She sensed a dark side she had only glimpsed a bit ago. She could see it prowling in his eyes when they were outside, and she could se
e it now as she looked at him. More importantly, he was her enemy. She needed to remember that. No flirtations, no charm—not even a heroic fight for an abused woman—changed that. And though Rachel was there for a reason, she found it a bad sign that she had to remind herself of that fact. And on date number one, no less.
She couldn’t let him cloud her judgment. She couldn’t get in too deep.
Still, she told herself, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy this while it lasted.
“Callaway Cove,” she breathed, then took a sip of her wine. “The summers here are amazing. Probably the best around because even though a lot of people prefer the beach, with its rolling waves and frothy surf, there’s something simplistic about the lake. It’s...lazier, more intimate,” she said, glancing at him, slightly self-conscious in her assessment of her hometown. “All you have is the water, family, and friends. You get to know the townspeople, even if you’re only staying for a week each summer. It’s sort of unavoidable here. And then the festivals and fish fries. Nearly every month you can find something different, something that involves the town, local culture, or the area.” She lifted her shoulders and shrugged.
“Sounds like someone really cares about this town?”
Rachel frowned. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“What about growing up with a father for the mayor?”
Rachel ran her finger around the rim of her glass, then took another sip. “Well, when I was very young, he was only a judge. It wasn’t until I was about twelve that he started campaigning and a couple years later that he got elected. And that was...consuming?” She looked at him, as if expecting confirmation.
Instead, he merely watched her intently, waiting for her to continue.
“Anyway, that’s it.”
He shook his head. “Nah, come on. You’re copping out. There’s more to it. I can see it written all over your face.”
